


I Didn't Mean To Have To Say It

by thegirlwholoveshorror



Series: Don't Stop Smoking And Drinking [9]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Gay Love Story, Gothic!Misha Collins, I'm Bad At Summaries, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Marijuana, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Prom, Recreational Drug Use, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:50:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwholoveshorror/pseuds/thegirlwholoveshorror
Summary: Then this happened.





	I Didn't Mean To Have To Say It

All I need is a little love in my life  
All I need is a little love in the dark  
A little but I'm hoping it might kick start  
Me and my broken heart

  
I need a little loving tonight  
Hold me so I'm not falling apart  
A little but I'm hoping it might kick start  
Me and my broken heart

―Rixton, Me And My Broken Heart

 

_**Summer 2018** _

Jensen sat in his doctor's office lobby. He'd taken two buses, two metro lines and a taxi to get to here.

And Mackenzie's last words to him played over and over in his head like a broken record: _“We'll get through this together, Jensen,” said Mackenzie. “We're both sick. We just need to be there for each other,”_

After a few minutes, “Jensen Ackles,” called a voice from a few feet away.

Jensen looked up at his doctor, Dr Cummins, who stood at the door to his office, then down at the chair next to him and picked up his coat, backpack, phone and earphones before getting up and walking into the office, all smooth glides and soft-motion. At each step he took, he felt his heart beat, but Jensen felt numb and like he was floating in air. 

If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought that he was still asleep, under the white sheets of his bed with the summer breeze coming in through the window, and the sound of children playing nearby in the park.

However, it was a beautiful day to be off in the **_town._**

 

Once in the office, Jensen sat down in one of the two chairs just across the desk from his doctor. The room was white. Everything was white: the door, the walls, the furniture, the floor... Jensen looked on and for a moment at the diplomas on the walls, just past the doctor's head. His left eyebrow furrowed a little as he contemplated how perfect one's own curriculum had to be to get that far, and all it did was just remind him of his own failures and disadvantages as, once upon a time, a long time ago, he had dreamed to be lawyer. Then he looked down at the table and medical anatomical models on it. It reminded him of where he was and put him back in his place.

Suddenly though, right here and then, Jensen felt a sensation of strange misplacement—he felt small and insignificant under this serious but young attractive man's gaze, like maybe he should come undone. His thoughts became jumbled as the doctor looked at him and asked, after a couple of moments, “Mr. Ackles, why are we here today?” 

“Well for starters, I think I need an increase on the dosage of my medication,” he said. “I take two pills of Tradozone and 30 mg of Citalopram every night. I know this is the second time I've asked for an increase but I don't have a choice,”

Jensen then tried to explain why his depression was real and how all of his past and current relationships suffered from it, but he felt numb and struggled with his words.

He could melt down into the floor under the feeling. It's like gravity was pushing him down.

 _So this is suicidal ideation_ , thought Jensen. Jensen looked down at his arms laid out on his lap, and his gaze settled on his bare wrists. Jensen smiled at the feeling that came with the idea of killing himself. He didn't have any plans to put an end to his life, but the concept of finally doing it seemed picture perfect.

Focusing on the task at hand, in Jensen's hand was his smartphone, and he scrolled down his sister's text messages telling him what to say. His heart wasn't in it, but he was still relieved from his trip to California and the 20 grams of legal cannabis that he had smoked within the space of the last two weeks.

See, old habits die hard, and, anyway, Jensen could remember, as far back as high school, having unhealthy coping mechanisms: when it wasn't alcohol, it was drugs or cigarettes.

“I'm always either stressed or depressed,” Jensen said. “I can't manage my anxiety on my own, and the med's aren't working. I have problems with the people at work, and I can't take it anymore because it's always been like this and it only keeps getting worse. Also, I need this job, so it's not like I can just up and quit. My problems follow me,”

Jensen ignored the judging stare that he got as he continued to scroll down and summarize.

“I think that I need to see a psychologist, and maybe see a psychiatrist because I could have some sort of illness. I've been accused of being antisocial, bipolar, having BPD, even being autistic: who am I if I'm always having problems with my relationships? I'm 29 years old and I've never been in a serious relationship!” Jensen knew he was attractive though. “And it's not that I want to be alone.” He hated to have to say it. “It's because I feel alone that I'm this way. I just mostly ignore the bad parts now, but it can't keep getting worse like this and I can't keep doing nothing to help it. People don't accept me, and they never have. I'm sick of being depressed. It's not **normal**!”

The doctor furrowed his brow and wrote something in his booklet.

“How are things with your family?” He looked up.

Jensen jumped. He wasn't prepared for the question.

“My dad has dementia, just like his father had before him,” he looked at the doctor and uncomfortably continued, eyes darting to the side, as if to break eye contact, then coming back to see that disapproving look again staring right back at him. “My parents' aren't the best couple. I honestly don't know why they're together anymore. My dad has this way of being ultra- conservative, -strict and -bitter. He was in the army for nearly 30 years. He hasn't had the best life,”

The doctor's eyes opening a little wider. Then, he nodded.

“In his defense...” Jensen went on to say, “there's a real good reason why he's like this,”

Jensen didn't think of it as a good excuse, but he hurried to say, “When he was really young, he was put in an orphanage after his mom got really sick. She died of a heart attack on the eve of his 26th birthday, on Valentine's day. He never got over it,”

Jensen didn't bother to say that his mother was manic depressive and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital where she was treated with electroshock's back in the 1950s. She didn't have your classic type of 'illness.' “On my mother's side, her brother was an alcoholic,”

Dr Cummins stared at him, mouth slightly _**open,**_ and Jensen waited for a reaction.

A moment passed because the doctor asked, “How are things between you and your brother and sister?”

Jensen winced. They may be great sources of support for him now; they often fought with him in the past. He had had a lifetime of struggles with his parents, Joshua and Mackenzie, for what they believed was his bad behavior, but Jensen didn't care who was right or wrong anymore as his life had been nothing but one big nightmare and his family seemed at least a little remorseful now, now that he was back on his feet.

“My sister who's a nurse has been on absence of leave for the last two years for depression and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital. She's been there for two months. My brother is a hypochondriac and is treated for anxiety,”

Jensen went on to say, “I get dark thoughts,”

The handsome swallowed at his words. “Do you have _plans for these dark thoughts?_ ”

The air was tense.

“No, but I've never hurt myself,” said Jensen. “And I can't do anything because if I did, then I imagine the people at my workplace would love it. And I'd never make them happy that way. They don't deserve it,”

Jensen continued to say, “I was 21 when I started university. Two months after I started, I got really sad,” his brow furrowed. “I hadn't made clear plans, but I was prepared for it: even though I had no money and my family expected all gifts for Christmas, I remember buying two bottles of vodka, three bottles of sleeping pills and a hundred dollars' worth of knives a few weeks before Christmas. I wasn't intending on making it through Christmas, but I guess I stuck around for my family, or whatever,”

There was a lot more to the story, but Jensen was still working his way towards crossing that line.

“Well, we're definitely increasing your medication, from 30 mg to 40 mg for the Citalopram,” said the doctor. He proceeded to scribble away words on doctor's notes. “Here's also a notice so you can see a psychologist, so your insurance can cover it,”

As the meeting came to an ending, Jensen gathered his coat and things and left the office. The doctor told him before he left to wait and see a psychiatrist, as the psychologist was his first step towards finding out if he had some sort of a personality disorder. Then, in the lobby, when Jensen asked the receptionist if she had a listing of local psychologists, an old man at the next counter shot him dirty looks and listened to what he said.

When Jensen got outside, he walked three miles into the downtown area of his hometown before he made it to the nearest store for cannabis products. He bought another 25 grams.

The relaxed setup made him feel okay. It was a wholesome feeling to have finally.

 

Later that night, Jensen laid in his bed, feeling desperate and defeated. Sadie barked in the kitchen; the door to his bedroom was closed. Through the open drapes of his wide windows, the night sky was studded with stars. It was 10 PM.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” said Jensen into his phone.

“Don't worry about it,” said Donna.

“What's wrong with me?”

“Nothing wrong's with you, Jensen. You're going to get the help you need,” 

“All I can think of is work. It's all I can ever think about anymore,” Jensen raised his left hand to run his hand over his eyes, then over his short spiky dark blond hair before laying it on his stomach. The fabric from his back T-shirt stretched across the muscles of his shoulder and back.

After a couple of minutes, he said, “Just don't tell Dad about any of this, okay?”

After Donna agreed, he looked at the ceiling, silent, then with a huff put an end to the call after saying goodbye.

He had work tomorrow, and the point of living was to ** _work_**.

 

 

Graduation, Summer 2007

A disco ball hung from the ceiling of the gymnasium. The lights were dim. Balloons adorned the walls and streamers hung from the ceiling. The room was filled with stubborn and horny teenagers, dressed up in every colour imaginable, nervous excitement filling the air.

“I'm having a great time,” said Jensen. “This is honestly the happiest that I've ever been,”

He wrapped his arms around Misha's waist for their ''couple's'' photo.

“Tell me about it. It's all over,” said a mesmerized Misha. “We're adults now. We make our own decisions,”

Misha stuck his tongue out and made a devil's horns hand as the photo was taken. He was tan, sported black eyeliner and had spiky black hair. He wore a Steampunk Vintage Tailcoat Jacket, style 'Gothic Victorian'.

Jensen wore a classic however powder pink suit with a white dress shirt and shoes, no tie. He ran his hand through his ear-length blond hair and smiled bashfully at the camera. It was an exciting time.

 

A couple hours later, Jensen stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Misha had left the party early.

“Hey,” said Demi. She came to stand next to him and wash her hands. Jensen continued to stare at himself in the eyes, and, after a moment, Demi asked, “Are you okay?”

Jensen's eyes flickered to look at her in the mirror, and he smiled. “I'm great,”

“Then come come back to the party,”

A man appeared by the door to the restroom and said, “Demi, let's go. We're leaving now for the after-party,”

That was Jensen's queue to leave. Nodding at them, he walked out of the bathroom and into the hall. He looked around at the lockers and empty halls. Loud music blared from every corner. It was like thunder.

 _The night is still young_ , thought Jensen, _and I have yet to get any punch._ High school was over; next year, he'd be starting at a new school. It was a time for new beginnings!

 

 

CURRENT DAY

Rain fell from the sky in streams and flowed across the pavement and sidewalks. The earth rejoiced under its spray. Jensen stood at the bus stop, under a tall leafy tree, umbrella in hand waiting for the bus. Not a lot of people would know what he was going through, but it wasn't any of their business anyway.

Jensen's days were repetitive. He was like a zombie, going through the motions, but he was cursed with the ability to take everything too personally and read too much into things. Jensen thanked the heavens that guns were illegal in New York State though because, if they weren't, Jensen probably would have snapped and resulted to some kind of violence long ago.

Jensen's phone ran through a playlist of punk rock songs as he tried to keep his eyes open so the bus wouldn't pass him by.

He hadn't spoken to a psychologist yet, but he was building up to it and at least graced with the will to continuously push forward. And there was nothing that a little high couldn't fix...

 

_“Get out while you can,” said Nicole, his supervisor._

 

_“We're friends,” said Darrin. “I really like you,” he said as he lightly touched his bicep.  
_

 

_“Do you ever think they sat us next to each other because we're both so weird?” asked Boris, his in-work born and raised Yugoslavian friend and colleague. “Don't get me wrong though, I still like you weird,” he licked his lips and puffed out his chest, pushing his shoulders back. They often went out for drinks after work. I guess you could say that they were good friends.  
_

 

_“If you're always so serious, Jensen, they'll never leave you be,” said Carolyn._

 

_“I'll make you wish you were dead,” whispered voices.  
_

 

 

 --xx--xx--xx--xx

Months went by, and, every night when Jensen got in from work, he locked himself in his bathroom and got high. Although it was legal now, it was still against the block's rules that he smoke weed anywhere on the property. Jensen had also stopped drinking again. He'd made his peace with it and preferred to spend his nights on a cloud now, floating or sailing through the sky, and at least he was never hungover anymore and it alleviated his anxiety and made him stop worrying or obsessing over certain events, like situations at his workplace. And just like he liked his coffee black, he liked his weed strong.

The pot froze his brain-cells, and Jensen could feel his whole quality of life improved. He no longer had nightmares.

Maybe it was wrong to self-medicate, but this was his life jacket... Was Jensen afraid? Of course he was, but he was also determined. He knew that, more than once in his life, he had found the faith and courage to move forward towards his life purpose... and he knew that he didn't want the fear to rule his life, for the rest of his life. That was good enough for him. Maybe there was a reason for all of it.

On his bed, falling asleep, in the dark night and in the midst of another _**peaceful** _dream, the white light took him over. He sunk deep into the whiteness, with the hopes of only emerging stronger the next day.

A new day was coming. He was turning 30 soon and would transcend it.

Jensen was just happy that Joshua had introduced him to weed again, like he had when they were both teenagers. The only times Jensen had ever really been happy was when he was stoned like a hippy. That was okay though because he had projects under way, and Jensen didn't think about Jared so much anymore. Was that so much to ask?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Take a moment to comment if you have the time. ;)
> 
> “Too weird to live, too rare to die!”  
> ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas


End file.
